Smutmas fic, same old fandom: Part 1/2
Title: THE TRYST
Author: Josan
Recipient's Name: cluegirl
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Hermione/Harry/Ron
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of JKR and WB. No profit is being made from this usage of them.

Betas: Many thanks to kaiz, who played sounding board and has a major role in the Preface. Continued appreciation to sylvadin, who pointed out a few inconsistencies and who laughed at all the right places, thereby confirming that what I was trying to do had been done. Grand merci to lmondegreen, who braced herself through reading several personal squicks to make certain that sentence structure was English and not Franglais. Without these three, what you would be reading would be quite different and probably quite dull.

Summary: See PREFACE.

Warnings: Other than the presence of some het sex, see PREFACE.
ETA: According to comments, it seems I should add a warning about the dialogue. It's been referred to as: "cheesy porn movie" dialogue, "70s B movie dialogue", and in more than a few places, just plain "bad" dialogue. The story itself has been rec'ed as a "purplish harlequin romance". Consider yourself warned.

Author's Notes: ETA: I know it is traditional to comment in the Header about the recipient's requests and how this gift proposes to accomplish that. However, all I have to say here is: see PREFACE.



PREFACE

(To the theme of Mission Impossible – the TV series, NOT the TC movies!)

From the Moderator of Merry Smutmas:
Your assignment, should you wish to accept it, is as follows:

* Cluegirl(at)gmail(dot)com.

Okay. I know her stories. I love her stories. I can do this.

* For Smutmas, please, I should like to have Harry. I should like to have Harry with Severus. Or Harry with Severus and Draco, together. Or Harry with Lucius and Severus. Orrrr Harry with Ron and Hermione. That'd be good too.

Hmmm, seems to favour threesomes. Will need to think about this.

Here's the trick: I do not at all mind seeing BDSM, but I want to see Harry as the dominant one please.

Huh! Harry? Dominant! Ohhhh, maybe I can't do this.

Or as one of the dominant ones.

Hmmm, I seriously don't think I can do this. Maybe if I contact The Mod, she can find me another assignment.

First and foremost, I love PLOT!

Okay, back to the 'can'. (Harry? Dominant? OMG!)

Character-driven sex makes me the happiest Clue ever! I also love rimming, I love bondage, I love release-delay, but above all, I like the people in bed to want to be there. A bit of dub-con, or some strong-armed convincing is cool,

Hmm. No squicks here. Yes, I can do this. (All right. Harry dom... Think positively.)

but by the end of it, I'd like for all parties to get their cookie, and to like it. (Yeah, call me a softie. You're prolly right.)

All right. You're a softie!

Feel free to disregard canon elements, but I'll like the gift better if you can be creative within canon.

Yes, well, I most certainly will have to disregard canon for a Harry dominant. He's such a wuss!

I don't want humiliation, I don't want cliche'd hatesex (been done too often with those pairings.)

Hear! Hear!

I'd rather not have cross-dressing for its own sake,

Okay, not a problem.

and I'm not very much into rentboy scenarios just now either.

Oh, feeling better about this.

Also: No scat,

Okay.

no watersports,

Fine by me!

no Roman,

I hear you!

AND ABSOLUTELY NO NILLANOSIS!

Ok...

Huh? What the...

Nillanosis?

Nillanosis? What's...?????

Where's the dictionary?

OED: nill, nilometer... No nillanosis.

Maybe it's an American term?

Webster: nill, nil nisi bonum... No nillanosis, either.

Okay, maybe my dictionaries are too old for this term.

Time for Google.

Google response: Do you mean illinois?

OMG! What kind of perversion is nillanosis that even Google doesn't list it?

I know. (Beta, whose name will later be inserted – now revealed to be kaiz ) should know. (Beta, whose name will later be inserted – now revealed to be kaiz ) knows *everything*!

(Beta, whose name will later be inserted – now revealed to be kaiz ): I have no idea.

OMG! (Feelings of panic settling in!)

Who would know if (Beta, whose name will later be inserted – now revealed to be kaiz ) doesn't know? I need this information. Bad enough I have to write Harry dominant, but perhaps to include a kink that Cluegirl doesn't want...OMG!

There is one last resource. Fingers crossed.

Dear Smutmas Moderator:
I have no idea what the word NILLANOSIS means.

Cluegirl ABSOLUTELY does NOT want any NILLANOSIS.

I checked in my OED, in Webster. Nothing.

I googled it and was asked if I meant Illinois.

I called up (Beta, whose name will later be inserted – now revealed to be kaiz ) (who knows all!) and she has no idea what it means.

Do you?

If you don't, could you ask Cluegirl what she means?

Many thanks.

Moderator responds:

Heh, it's a joke. Amanuensis made it up a while back. I don't remember
exactly what it means but it's something like rubbing Nilla wafers in your
partner's armpits during sex. Something silly and stupid like that. It's not
really something you need to worry about. :-)

Panic...is now replaced...by feelings of...malevolence.

Oh, so it's a joke, is it?

Well, cluegirl,

(Cue theme from JAWS)

you have only yourself to blame for:



THE TRYST



"Yes, this will do very nicely. Thank you."

Harry flashed his trademark shy yet winsome smile at the young man – clad only in a swatch of dark red material that was knotted almost indecently low on a tantalising bronzed hip – who had just finished giving him a tour of the not-all-that-small beach hut.

He handed the man a ten pound note – this being a Muggle resort – along with a twinkling – à la Dumbledore – appreciation of and a shrug at the assets being subtly offered – and waited until the door had closed behind him to toss his fashionable, but not ostentatious, Muggle spring coat onto a small table, then drop, with a sigh, into one of the gaily patterned cushioned rattan chairs that decorated the room.

The secluded hut was as he had requested, the last along the beach of this exclusive tropical paradise, a paradise far away from the noise and tension of his office in the Ministry. Harry loved being an Auror. He was in fact – of course – being groomed as a future Head of the Department of Aurors, but right now, he really needed a break from all that.

Alone, with no audience, with no expectations to live up to, Harry slowly allowed himself to slouch in the comfortably padded chair.

No, right now what he badly needed was time away from all the regular grit and grind of his life.

Moreover, it was the anniversary of his having defeated Voldemort and the only way he could avoid the celebratory gatherings was not to be available to fulfill the hundreds of requests – some practically demands! – that overfilled the inbox on his cluttered desk.

He toed off his shoes – hand-made by a goblin who understood that standing on one's feet all day need not be a chore – and stretched out his legs – not as long as he used to wish, but still an occasional source of envy, especially when the thing one was looking for was housed on an upper shelf – slouching even farther down against the bright green-and-blue themed cushions, crossed one slim ankle over the other and stared out the windowed wall that looked over the white sands and the soft blue of the water that faded into sky.

He leaned his head back and sighed again, letting the tension of the past, hectic weeks ease out of his body at the calming, uncommercialised beauty of the view.

His breathing gradually deepened and he dozed.

Harry woke when the angle of his neck against the cushion began making itself felt. He rose, rubbing his neck, and decided to make use of the rather decadent shower that the attendant had demonstrated with seductive charm.

The shower – a sybaritic experience what with its multiple shower heads – that feature an alternating warm, hot, cold pulsating rhythm – worked wonders on the tension that long – very long – distance Apparation had left behind.

Sea green towel – the colour made his eyes all the more noticeable – wrapped around his hips, hips still slim from weekly Quidditch matches between Department teams – his the usual winner, of course – Harry re-entered the main room, shaking the droplets of water off his hair, making it stand up and about in a manner familiar to all those who followed his adventures in Witch Weekly, among other Media rags.

He took the time to empty the small case that he had carried in order to dispel any Muggle curiosity. He put away the few clothes that filled it, stashing the case on a closet shelf. He replaced the now dampened towel with the thick, white towelling bathrobe that he had found on one of the shelves in the bathroom, letting it hang loosely, unbelted, framing his lightly tanned body – the result of a sun-blocking potion that he had ingested just prior to Apparating from HQ.

Though he was far from home and the office, Harry was not without work. He unminiaturised the briefcase that had been a gift to him from the Minister for Magic – his close and personal friend, Kingsley Shacklebolt – and, from it, pulled out a red folder – boldly stamped: FOR POTTER'S EYES ONLY – that contained several sheets of paper.

He was putting the briefcase aside when he stopped to stare at his hand. He placed the folder on the table that offered a selection of liquor displayed in differently sized and coloured bottles. Harry was still for a moment as he contemplated his hand, then, with a nod, he carefully removed the wedding ring and placed it inside the small drawer of the table.

With more relief than he felt he could comfortably admit – even to himself – Harry gave himself a little shake and poured himself a drink in one of the heavy crystal glasses that were lined up to one side of the choices. After looking around the room, he decided to move the chair he'd been using closer to the view. He gestured with his hand and the chair obligingly shuffled itself to the spot Harry had designated.

Another casual wave of his hand and the panels of glass slid open to allow the tropical breezes access to the hut.

He sat, legs stretched out once more, robe pulling away from his finely muscled body – the result of several hours a week of physical training – took a sip of his drink and began reading the sheets in the folder.

That they were much read – by eyes that, through the Magic of repairing spells and potions, were no longer myopic – was discernable by the no longer pristine look to the papers, and by the hand-written annotations that peppered each sheet.

At one point, Harry Accio'ed a pen and added a few more. He reread the sheets one final time before nodding to himself, satisfied. Then he sent the folder to join the others in his briefcase, called up a small rattan ottoman – which shambled over as though it were an eager pup – made himself comfortable and sipped his drink all the while watching the view. And letting the warm breezes caress his body. At some point, he even spread his legs so that they could reach the best part of him.

He smiled, his soft, personal smile and was sleepily content.

The patterned knocks at the door were not unexpected.

Harry tossed down the last of his drink then went to answer, placing the glass down as he passed the libations table.

There was a second series of knocks just as he reached the door.

He opened it.

"Harry."

"Hermione."

Hermione Granger-Weasley slipped furtively into the room, closing the door behind her. She leaned back against it and looked around the room, as though checking for something...or someone.

While she did so, Harry looked appreciatively at her. She was wearing a Muggle trench coat – Banbury, of course – with a beret perched on her head, her hair tamed into a long braid that hung over a shoulder. The beret matched the lining of the coat that was the hallmark of the label.

"Darling!"

"Beloved!"

Harry pulled Hermione to him and, holding her chin, tilted her head back. "Finally," he murmured, his voice dropping into a deeper register. He bent his head – admittedly not that much, since Hermione was only an inch or so shorter than he was – and captured her lips.

She wound her arms around his neck and raised herself a little on tip-toe to angle her head so that their tongues could meet without difficulty.

"Scotch," she murmured as their lips reluctantly pulled away.

Harry's grin captured Hermione's gaze. "Your favourite. I wanted to be ready for you."

Hermione licked her lips. "I'll need more than that little taste," she spoke softly, eyes glittering with her tease.

Harry helped her off with her coat. "You won't be needing that here," he said, sending the coat to the closet. "Nor that." He tossed her hat after the coat.

"You're right." She batted her eyelashes at him. "Much too warm for both."

Harry's grin held more than a hint of the lecher as she stepped to the bar to help herself to the scotch.

Hermione was wearing a jet-black bustier, the cups pushing up her alabaster breasts so that they quivered with each step, the rouged nipples playing hide and seek with the black lace that framed the bra. Her black thong left her buttocks free to his approving eyes, an approval she encouraged with a slight swish of her hips as she bent to open the small refrigerator – under the drinks table – to locate some ice for her drink.

Her legs were clad in black silk stockings, held up by the long ribboned garters that descended from the waist of the bustier, their lines accenting the ivory of her thighs. Stockings that ended in needle-heeled shoes that would have – and probably did – require Magic in order to make their way over the sandy ground without harm to their wearer.

Harry reached out to grab the cheeks that were enticing him. Hermione squealed when he gripped her.

"Harry!"

"Well," Harry laughed, "they shouldn't wriggle if they don't want attention."

Hermione dropped the ice into her drink, leaning back into Harry as she sipped, her buttocks nestled against him. "Nice place you chose."

"Relaxing," agreed Harry, nuzzling the nape of her neck.

"Sensual," added Hermione, rubbing her buttocks against his groin, soft skin roughened by crisp curls, before turning to face Harry. "Want a taste?" She offered the glass.

Harry pushed her hand down gently and once more took possession of her mouth. "Delicious," he murmured when he finally released it.

Hermione made a production out of taking another sip. She slowly sipped the liquid into her mouth then rolled it around before swallowing it. She began licking her lips when Harry's tongue pushed hers aside and he took his time leisurely savouring the last of the biting flavour from her mouth.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione rubbed her breasts against Harry's lightly muscled chest.

His hands grabbed the soft orbs and he squeezed hard enough for Hermione to let her head fall back, gasping, allowing more of that bodacious flesh out of its prison. "Oh, yes. Harder. Just as I like it, my darling."

"Oh, Hermione! How I have ached for you! For this moment! It's been so long, dear heart." Harry pushed down on the bustier, releasing her bubbies, and buried his nose in the warm mass. He rubbed his face back and forth, inhaling the scent of Shalimar mingled with those of Hermione and her growing arousal.

The scent went straight to his groin and Harry felt himself respond. His manhood twitched and hardened as his lifeblood surged to it.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione reached around and managed to insert her hand between them, her palm pulling the rough pubic hair as she reached down to grasp his now thickening staff.

For Harry, though smaller than a lot of men in stature, was anything but when it came to the important bits.

Harry bucked into her hand. Hermione knew what pleased him. Her grip shifted in intensity, between a gentle grip and one that bordered on pain.

Harry moaned. "Keep that up and I won't wait for you," he threatened, though the gasping tone made his growl less severe than it might have been.

"Promises, promises," tempted Hermione, her voice husky with anticipation.

"As you wish, my goddess."

Harry was rocking himself on the balls of his feet, his now throbbing cock pushing back and forth in the channel of her hand...

"Unhand my wife, you dastardly villain!"

"Ron!' shrieked Hermione, face whitening as teasing arousal left her.

"Fuck," growled Harry, angrily, irate at having his pleasure so rudely interrupted.


I wonder what's going to happen, eh?